


abstain

by swishandflickwit



Series: The Devil's Lucky Number [4]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (i keep forgetting to add that tag lol), A little smutty, Chloe KNOWS, Deckerstar - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Spanking, deckerstar fanfiction, he is risen, post-reveal, sexy drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: He didn’t know who issued the challenge first, but the gauntlet had been thrown.And neither were willing to lose.In which Chloe and Lucifer challenge each other not to have sex for 666 hours.





	abstain

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [whopooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh): 
> 
> How about abstinence - just as we have to wait, Chloe and Lucifer makes a wager that they can go without sex for 666 hours. Who loses, and how? Or do both manage? How sulking will the devil be?

He didn’t know who issued the challenge first, but the gauntlet had been thrown.

And neither were willing to lose.

He remembered grinning with all the rakish charm of a wolf. “I’m older than time itself, my dear,” he had tutted. “I’m not one for virtue but when it comes to patience—of that I have in _abundance._ ”

The game was supposed to be simple, see—666 hours without any kind of sex. What was twenty-eight days in his all ready long existence? 666. It was the Devil’s lucky number, after all.

However, no one took to account the cunningness of Chloe Decker and in hindsight, perhaps that was his downfall.

It started with a change in wardrobe. It was the middle of Summer in LA so he thought nothing of her simple shirts sans leather jacket.

Shirts that grew progressively tighter and shorter, if his eyes were to be believed.

He shouldn’t have been so bothered by the slip of skin that revealed itself to him each time she bent over to inspect something, or the hint of cleavage whenever she scooped low to grasp for whatever object.

Oh, he moaned lowly to himself, but did it ever.

Not one to be outdone, he retaliated with equally conniving, if not borderline _dirty,_ tactics.

They couldn’t have sex. Nobody ever said anything about _touching._

So he _loomed._

She saw right through him, of course, but didn’t call him out on it. Too brave, stubborn and _prideful_ to back down whenever he hovered ever so close within her space—when his hands lingered a touch longer than appropriate at that sliver of skin or his lips slid a little too near the corner of her mouth when he meant to kiss her cheek in greeting. He dare say the minx craved his caresses just as much as he looked forward to perpetuating it.

Gluttons for punishment, the both of them.

So it seemed fitting that neither of them lasted—breaking just shy of two days, one hour and thirty-seven seconds to the finish line.

He blamed it on her blasted scrap of fabric she called her tank top and sleep shorts that he found her in when he arrived at her apartment. She blamed it on his rolled-up sleeves and top three undone buttons, which he found a tad hypocritical given her style choices as of late.

But he could hardly find her at fault when he had her pinned to the kitchen counter, her bum perched precariously at the edge as she wrapped those spindly legs around his waist and _ground_ against him.

“Yield,” he gasped when she sucked a purple bruise onto his neck.

“No.”

“Detective,” he growled, pulling lightly at her scalp to dislodge her from his throat, only for it to backfire when he felt, more than heard, her husky moan of pleasure. _“Yield.”_

“Never,” she panted, just as she thrust feverishly at his painfully hard length.

With a sound that was half-whine, half-snarl and all feral, he pulled away from the wicked spider’s web that was her limbs and twisted her so that she was now bent over the countertop. He pulled her shorts down, and nearly died when he found her bare, wet and _wanting._

He gave her inviting globe a smack of his hand in lieu of the smack of his lips like he really wanted. Nipping down for a taste felt too close to admitting defeat.

“Yield, Chloe,” he whispered pruriently against her ear, before tonguing at her lobe. “Or I shall be forced to punish you.”

She hissed when he cosseted the all ready reddening spot.

“Bastard,” she spat even as she pushed her bottom against his front so she was perfectly lined against his still-clothed member. It was his turn to hiss.

“ _You_ yield, if you’re so eager.”

To no one’s utter surprise, they both yielded, and neither won.

Though if you asked Lucifer, he quite liked to think they were both the victors in the end.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Ya'll.** This was _way_ longer (830-ish words) and racier haha but I had to stick to the damn 666 word count. Seriously. I've never been more pained to cut words down, I've totally blueballed myself lmao.
> 
> Special shout out to whophooh for this devilish prompt! I cannot tell you _enough_ just how much fun I had with this. You have my thanks!!!
> 
> And if you guys have any requests let me know, it might just stir up the muse ;) My goal is to make 28 of these—one for each day before the premiere. Cross our fingers I don't make like Chloe and Lucifer here and _actually_ make it to the finish line lol.
> 
> You can also reach me on my [tumblr!](http://swishandflickwit.tumblr.com/)


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